Feral dreams blur moon at last;
zero, clinging to her dark
will say nothing now about these
hours, grinding slowly and
ungiven in the slide of gravity.
Night rattles dry-leaf bones and
foxes pick at unread love
songs tumbled in among cold
cuts, half-smoked cigarettes
and over cooked spaghetti.
“oh really and what now”
………………… she-writhes
forget me now 
“cold cuts, half-smoked cigarettes
and over cooked spaghetti.” (sounds like the buffet i ate at last weekend)…
this is like sharing a cup of tea with the ghost of Edgar Allen Poe on All Hallows’ Eve…a bit haunting, but there’s really no other place you’d rather be at that moment…
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omg that is a most fantastic comment, Chico! *searches for antacids – re that buffet … oh. the poem ate them already … oops! *sigh … more tea, vicar? lol
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I loved the last stanza…It is so haunting, like the ghost of the relationship is lurking about , outside, unable to defend itself from the ravages of nature’ little creatures.
“Foxes pick at unread love songs…”
I do so enjoy you style and sentiment. Last night the neighbors dogs went through my trash, and as I picked up the shreds this morning I found a few items and thought about this poem.
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you are so on the ball, eh? you sensed the what ifs we have to ditch, the same ones that we don’t …. not really … yet nature/fate must have her way and we can only acquiesce … thank you, punatik! as it turns out the dark whatever that wrecked me was largely down to insecurity on my part … thank goddess …
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That is great. Such control over tone, it’s subtle and moves so well from the epicmystic into the everyday that the poem has a very powerful and clear effect. And having listened to all your podcasts I can hear it and it sounds fantastic. (if a little scary and unsettling)
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how do you do it? catch every nuance like that? i gave myself a shitty, scared w/end and tried to exorcise it this way … you’re hearing it just right my friend …. thank you ….
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